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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25567744">Hand Talk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrittleDame/pseuds/BrittleDame'>BrittleDame</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eita is obsessed with Kenjirou's hands, M/M, Shirabu Kenjirou is a Little Shit, Shirabu is Stressed, jk he's worried about Kenjirou's mental health, minor hand-holding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:02:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25567744</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrittleDame/pseuds/BrittleDame</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It became an unhealthy habit for Eita to always seek out the finest details in every minute move Shirabu made, which could look downright obsessive to an outsider.<br/>Lately, Eita has noticed Shirabu slipping on basic hand care that's essential for setters due to stress. Eita takes it upon himself to call out the younger and offers assistance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>132</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hand Talk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The semishira tag has been a little empty recently, so I thought I would make a contribution. Hope you guys enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shirabu was a man of few words and many actions. This was one of the first few things Eita observed over the course of his second year. During his first year as the main setter, it somewhat became an unhealthy habit for Eita to always seek out the finest details in every minute move the first year setter made, which could look downright obsessive to an outsider.</p><p>From the way Shirabu would flick his head to get his asymmetrical fringe out of his eyes, down to the way he would disdainfully regard his meal when minced mushrooms were in it. Eita noticed all these things unwittingly and, he insisted to himself, <em>unwillingly</em>. If there was something Eita despised above disrespect and bratty underclassmen – it was the feeling of being out of control.</p><p>Unfortunately, this nasty little habit of his did not go unnoticed by his teammates, albeit they made little fuss over it. Surprisingly, other than the occasional teasing eyebrow raise from Satori, the exuberant male made no further affair of the situation. Eita didn’t know whether to feel grateful or anxious about his teammate’s knowledge of his predilection of watching Shirabu rather than game itself, but it was better than the endless needling Satori would dish out.</p><p>Eita was not an idiot, he knew one day he would get caught or worse, called out, by Shirabu. He would inevitably have to horribly explain himself, leading to Shirabu scowling at him and never speaking to him again. That’s honestly the worse-case scenario, but Eita has made it to his final year of high school from anticipating the worse, so he can’t help but worry.</p><p>He also can’t help but worry over the fine details of the younger setter’s hands. From everything Eita has seen and learnt about Shirabu, it seems that they both share the same personal hand care practices. From countless hours of setting and the occasional spiking practices, it was quite easy for nails to quickly accumulate dirt, split, and even bleed, if the practice was grueling enough. So, Eita took up both nail care to prevent the ceaseless ache that always rears its ugly head the next day.</p><p>Suffice to say, from all his hours of watching Shirabu on the bench during both practice and official matches, Eita watched the gradual but sure deterioration of Shirabu’s hands as the school semester progressed. It started with nails cut short enough for Eita to wince in sympathy pain. He knows exactly what it exactly felt like to mistakenly cut nails too short during his therapeutic hand grooming sessions. This action did not go unnoticed by the shorter male, who merely raised an unimpressed brow, as if to say: ‘<em>What are you going to yell at me for now?’ </em></p><p>He knows how to pick and choose battles, so Eita merely clucks his tongue and shakes his head before continuing on with his pre-game routine.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The next instance Eita notices Shirabu’s hands was during lunch. It wasn’t uncommon for the whole team to gather and eat together occasionally, whether to complain about the excessive workload as end of session finals approach, or to swap battle stories with the younger years about the shit the third years got away with during their first and second years. Even though Shirabu was quiet and rarely contributed to the conversation asides from the occasional jab at Goshiki’s loud exclamations and riling both Satori and Eita up.</p><p>Shirabu happened to sit two seats down across from Eita that day, slowly but surely making a dent in his soba, and for all the world looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the country.</p><p>A loud shout from Satori rips Eita from his inner musings. A quick look around the room shows it was the same for the other students.</p><p>“Oi, keep it down Satori! Do you have any other volume setting than max?” Eita hissed at the male across from him, chucking in a decent shin kick to get his point across. The slouched male yelped and pouted at the ash-haired male.</p><p>“That hurt Semi-Semi! You’ve been in such an emo mood recently.” Satori leaned across the table and made to grab at the setter's face.</p><p>Eita jerked back in surprise. “I-I have not been in a <em>mood</em>! You’ve just been up to more stupid shit recently,” he huffs.</p><p>At the unimpressed looks he received from majority of the table, Eita was shocked that they had noticed he’s been a bit more withdrawn these past few days. The shit-tonne of school assignments and study material piled onto him led to him living every spare moment between school and volleyball in the library. It really didn’t help that whenever Shirabu was in the vicinity, his eyes would hone in on him. It was becoming a distraction that his already lacklustre grades honestly couldn’t handle.</p><p>“Well I’m not surprised. Third year must be hard for someone who solely devotes all their neurons for volleyball.” Eita sighed. As per usual, Shirabu didn’t miss his chance to shoot Semi while he was down.</p><p>Eita spared a glance at the light-haired male and felt his blood start to boil at the sight of the younger smirking at him. His eyes subconsciously dropped down to the younger’s wrapped fingers loosely grasping cheap bamboo chopsticks. Shirabu’s wraps were slightly frayed along the edges, with some smudges of different coloured ink indicating the wraps hasn’t been changed at least since this morning’s practice. Eita can’t help himself but wonder since when did Shirabu start keeping his wraps on throughout the day.</p><p>“Stop staring, it’s embarrassing.” Eita jerks his eyes back to Shirabu’s bitchy expression. Eita scoffed and silently returned to listlessly poking at his own lunch, not bothering to rise up to Shirabu’s challenging tone.</p><p>Listening in, Eita noted the conversation had moved along without the setters. They probably expected them to bicker relentlessly, as per usual. Eita has never felt so relieved at being ignored in his entire life. As he continues making his way through his meal, his mind kept on mulling over Shirabu’s wraps, you know, like a perfectly sane person.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Since being demoted to reserve setter and pinch server, it allowed Eita a lot of time to ruminate on skillful plays the opposing team pulled off and thinking of ways they could incorporate them in their next practice, just to spice it up a little. Coach Washijou was never a big fan of creative and risky plays, meanwhile Eita thrived off of them. Shiratorizawa needed a reserved and level-headed setter, not an Eita that demanded the spotlight with every flashy toss and serve.</p><p>He couldn’t even begin listing the sleepless nights he spent conceiving new tactics and formations, most of which ended up working, but the ones that didn’t resulted in Eita being chewed out by the old man and being on a tight leash for a while. Maybe that was the reason, probably among many, that Shirabu was promoted to a starter position in his second year and Eita downgraded to the pine bench.</p><p>As a first year, Shirabu made the occasional fumble and struggled to keep up with the fast pace that Shiratorizawa defeated many teams with. The stress on the setter that arose with such a fast pace is not something that can’t be learnt overnight, Eita knows this from first-hand experience, but Shirabu breezed through the barricades that Eita struggled with for weeks as if they were made out of paper.</p><p>Shirabu was diligent.</p><p>Shirabu was composed.</p><p>Shirabu was stressed.</p><p>It was evident in the small crease lines on his forehead from furrowing his eyebrows. It was evident in the lilac splotches under his eyes. It was seen in his lack of bite in his snarky remarks towards the young aspiring ace and Eita’s fussing. It was reflected in the pallor of his skin, leaving Eita fretting over whether it’s from burn out or not sitting in the sun long enough. It was most notable in the state of his hands.</p><p>The practice match had stopped for a short break, where the panting players gratefully accepted clean towels and drank large gulps of room temperature water. Eita supposed he should’ve felt annoyed with himself when he felt his eyes automatically slide to Shirabu’s form sitting hunched over on the bench. His hands were grasping at the towel on his shoulder to wipe away at the perspiration accumulating on his face and the back of his neck.</p><p>Eita didn’t fail to notice that Shirabu’s wraps looked much too loose to be of any use and appeared worse for the wear. It was evident that they must’ve been changed between days, as the ink stains from two days ago have vanished, but the frays from continuous setting and receiving are more prominent. They’re even slightly discoloured from prolonged wear.</p><p>His jaw unconsciously clenched when Shirabu glanced over in his direction and scowled at the elder. Eita’s blood began to boil at such a simple act of disrespect. Shirabu is the only person besides his younger brother that can set Eita off so quickly. From that moment, Eita steeled himself to confront Shirabu about taking care of himself.</p><p>Eita didn’t want to leave it up to his fellow third years to call Shirabu out on his bullshit, who knows how it would turn out with them at the stead. Then again, Eita himself technically wouldn’t be the most obvious choice either. Yes, they did get along leagues better than the initial few months Shirabu had joined the team and shortly replaced him thereafter, but there was still a lot of improvement that could be made to their relationship. '<em>Or lack of</em>,' Eita muses silently.</p><p>He passively learnt enough about the stubborn brat to know he wouldn’t actively seek out help, unless a gun was held up against his head. Even then Eita entertains the ridiculous idea that the younger would just goad the gun handler into a pre-mature mid-life crisis.  </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The impromptu plan ended up kicking off at the end of practice, with him stalling in the locker rooms doing everything and nothing all at once to not seem suspicious to his remaining teammates. Reon met his eyes a few times while meticulously packing his sports duffel, giving him an encouraging smile, leading Eita to believe the ever astute Reon is well aware what he’s up to. Eita once again doesn’t know whether to feel comforted or disturbed that he’s that easy to read. Thankfully, Satori was too wrapped around Wakatoshi to notice Eita’s lagging behind during changing. Internally begging, Eita hopes the younger setter quickly finishes with the pack-up before Satori looked into his very soul and teased the fuck out of him for tonight’s intervention.</p><p>It only took 30 minutes of loitering, mindlessly scrolling on his phone and nodding a farewell to each member filtering out, before Shirabu eventually made an appearance in the locker room. Shirabu didn’t deign to acknowledge Eita’s presence as he quickly swept through the room towards the showers. Eita scowled down at his phone. He thought that the younger would give him the cold shoulder in hopes of driving Eita away, but little does the copper-haired brat know about Eita’s tenacity on certain matters involving pretty boys.</p><p>When the younger emerged from the steaming showers, Eita had started organising his locker to work out the jitters in his hands. He can’t afford to show any physical vulnerability when he knows he’s about to poke the metaphorical sleeping dragon of sharp witticisms. Looking up, Eita spies the small water droplets that clung to the ends of darkened copper-hair, highlighting the natural light blonde streaks that turned almost a honey gold under the warm fluorescent lighting. Eita notes that his hair is almost the same colour as his eyes when damp; he has half the heart to scold the younger to properly dry his hair before setting off to his dorm.</p><p>A slam of a locker door startles him out of that unexpected reverie. A quick glance at Shirabu’s now completely dressed state, tie and all, tells Eita that he zoned out much longer than anticipated when internally comparing the younger’s hair to molten caramel in the shitty lighting.</p><p>Shirabu sits on the opposite end of the bench, as far as possible from Eita, and begins tying his laces. “You do know that a picture will last longer, right? It’s also somewhat less disturbing than you just staring at me in an empty room.” Shirabu comments.</p><p>Ignoring the somewhat rude – <em>but kinda true</em> – comment, Eita steels his nerves. It’s now or never.</p><p>“Have you been having troubles with school lately? Or maybe with your home life?” Eita scuffed the toe of his shoe against the polished floor, avoiding the other’s bewildered gaze.</p><p>Scoffing, Shirabu piques an eyebrow at him and states, “I hardly see how that’s any of your business.”</p><p>Anticipating the evasive nature of the ever apathetic second year, Eita shot a grin at him. Any decent setter who’s worth their jersey knows how to quickly formulate a back-up plan for any play the opposing team may throw at them. Besides, plan B is more like plan A when Eita knew well and truly that this encounter is not going to follow the scenarios he’s played out in his mind.</p><p>“Aw, don’t be shy Shirabu. You can talk to me about this kind of stuff,” Eita cooed teasingly. If there’s one thing that will draw out Shirabu out of his shell, it’s some good old provocation.</p><p>Shirabu looked down at the floor and twisted his hands together in front of him, pale eyelashes brushing against his high cheekbones. If Eita didn’t know any better, Shirabu looked<em> tired</em>. That alone was enough for him to realise that he is marching into uncharted waters with Shirabu.</p><p>Bitting at his lower lip, Eita walks over to sit beside Shirabu.</p><p>“Don’t lie. You can tell me what’s going on with you. It’s wrong to see your hands like this.” To emphasize his point, Eita gently grasped Shirabu’s left hand, causing the younger male to simultaneously stiffen and gape at Eita.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shirabu says lamely.</p><p>Eita scoffed and grinned down at shorter male. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re a horrible liar, brat. Kawanishi lied to me when he said you were a master of deceit.” Shirabu’s hand tightens in Eita's loose hold at his words.</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Shirabu went to reply before pausing and looking back at the floor, as if to gather his thoughts.</p><p>Eita recognised his struggle; it was hard to reach out to people when you’re struggling. It was especially hard to reach out to the third year who you replaced and act like a dick to whenever the opportunity arises.</p><p>“I’ve just been a little overwhelmed with classwork recently,” Shirabu mumbled at the floor, “I need to have the top grades to apply for the University of Tokyo’s medical degree and the pressure has become even worse this year being a starter and all.” An uncontrollable zing a pain shot straight to Eita’s heart at Shirabu's mention of being a starter.</p><p>Silence enveloped the room, Eita sat there partially shocked that Shirabu actually verbalised what was bothering him instead of giving him another rude comment about how it was none of his business and walking away. As Shirabu glanced at the ash-haired male from under his blonde eyelashes, Eita thought that his heart would spontaneously seize in his chest in that very moment.</p><p>‘<em>Oh god, I’m in deep aren’t I?</em>’ His thoughts were swimming around his head too fast to grasp an appropriate answer at Shirabu’s issue. Instead he just started to delicately unwrap the abused tape from the delicate fingers trapped in his grasp.</p><p>After a few beats of silence and suffering the full brunt of Shirabu’s intense gaze, Eita finally calmed his heart and thoughts.</p><p>“You do know that there’s always someone that is happy to help you, right? I know that when I struggled with my second year English and Chemistry assessment timetable and keeping my position on the team, I had to arrange a meeting with my teacher and found a solution to keeping my grades up and not miss practice.” Shirabu knew Eita wasn’t an academic genius, he got in from a sports scholarship and he’s still here only because of his scholarship. His average grades were kind of a back-burner issue for Eita but as graduation fast approaches and university applications flood his desk, he’s faced with the dawning realisation of ‘<em>oh shit’</em>.</p><p>Shirabu’s shoulders start to shake silently and Eita feared that he broke the caramel-haired setter. Laughter, in the form of short and surprisingly ugly chortles, filled the air and Eita sat there dumbstruck as he watch the ever-so stoic Mr. Cool-Headed lose his shit over some heart-felt advise from his senior. Anger should be the predominate emotion Eita experiences, but he instead joins in with the laughter.</p><p>“You little shit! I just gave you some solid advice and you laugh at me – Hey stop, don’t laugh harder!” Eita realises he’s completely lost all control of the situation, as one does when Shirabu is involved.</p><p>Shirabu’s cheeks were flushed from laughter, with small droplets gathering in the corners of his closed eyes and – Eita notes most importantly – a carefree smile. Eita is starstruck with just observing Shirabu’s soft-looking and dorky hair-cut bounce along with his shoulders and admiring his plush-looking lips stretched into a rare smile. Eita could do nothing but admire the younger setter as Shirabu desperately tried to calm himself down. Genuine smiles from the uptight brat were rarer than a super blue moon eclipse, lord knows when you’d ever experience one first-hand again.</p><p>“It really wasn’t that funny, you can stop now,” Eita’s jovial tone belied that he was more amused than annoyed with the younger setter.</p><p>Shaking his head with a grin, Shirabu states, “I was just that surprised that you say the most clichéd stuff sometimes. I honestly can’t believe it.”</p><p>Heat crept along Eita’s cheeks as he failed to fight the sudden flush of embarrassment back down into the hole it crawled out of.</p><p>“That wasn’t clichéd! It was honest and helpful advice, you brat. That’s it, I give up trying to help you now. Suffer in peace.” Eita made to get up and was stopped by the hand that he had been holding.</p><p>The pleading look in Shirabu’s look caught him off-guard, but the slight smirk on the asshole’s face assured Eita hell was to come from his little one-party intervention.</p><p>“I’m joking, I’m joking, calm down for a second.” He tugged Eita to sit back down. ”What tipped you off that I was stressed? Did Taichi tell you because I swear I’ll-“</p><p>Eita quickly cut him off, shaking his head.</p><p>“No, Kawanishi had nothing to do with it. I just… Your hands…” Eita struggled to properly articulate his thoughts over the past few months without sounding insane or like an obsessed stalker.</p><p>Shirabu raised a curious eyebrow and lifted his hands in front of his face, studying them as if waiting for them to reveal secrets unknown to him.</p><p>“I guess my hands get a bit battered when I get stressed. Grooming them have been the last thing on my mind recently.” Shirabu shrugged.</p><p>Eita gave him an unimpressed look. Shirabu was a very articulate guy, his bangs always as straight as the day they were cut, his clothes always clean and neatly pressed – unlike Kawanishi’s notably creased uniform from cramming it in his sports bag after practice. Eita has seen Shirabu flip his shit when Goshiki’s excited hand gestures at lunch have led to bits of food landing on Shirabu’s uniform… Eita had never seen so much emotion displayed on the younger’s face off the court.</p><p>Looking down at his own hands, Eita debates with himself. Theoretically he could offer to help Shirabu out, that would mean one less thing for the pretty boy to worry about and as a bonus, Eita would get to spend some quality time with him without Satori giving him suggestive looks.</p><p>“Look,” Eita starts softly, “how about I help you out a little with your hand-care routine.”</p><p>Now it was Shirabu’s turn to give the older setter a disbelieving look. The soft embarrassed flush re-emerged over Eita’s cheeks at Shirabu’s unimpressed piqued eyebrow. Eita couldn’t possibly recall the last time he flushed so many times asides from exercise, he was much too used to Satori’s constant litany of teasing and innuendos.</p><p>“Just listen for a second okay?” Eita ran a hand through his hair. “It would save you some time after practice, so you can focus properly focus on your studies, and it’ll save you a lot of pain while playing later on down the line.”</p><p>Shirabu started to say something before Eita once again cut him off and was met with a nasty glare for doing so.</p><p>“Hands are the most important tool for volleyball correct?” At Shirabu’s reluctant nod, Eita continues, “Hands are a setter’s main tool and you not keeping them in top shape is betraying the team. You wont be giving them the absolute best that you promised Ushijima.”</p><p>The shocked expression on the younger’s usually blank face almost made Eita laugh, but he smothered it in fear of Shirabu smacking him in retribution.</p><p>“How did you overhear me talking to Ushijima that day? I was sure everyone had left.” Shirabu was slightly curious as to how his usually loud upperclassman had eavesdropped on his private conversation without either of them discovering him.</p><p>Eita was wholly unused to the undivided attention from Shirabu, but his brain unhelpfully supplied:<em> ‘I could get used to this</em>.’</p><p>“I forgot my phone in my locker, so I doubled back and kinda ran into you guys talking. It looked important, you looked…” Eita searches for the word, “Inspired? No, <em>determined </em>when you spoke with him. You looked much more passionate than the usual blank expression you have.”</p><p>Everyone knew that the main driving force for Shirabu’s enrollment at Shiratorizawa wasn’t its nationals-placing team but was instead a certain ridiculously powerful opposite hitter. Eita supposed he should feel jealous of the devotion Shirabu displayed towards Wakatoshi on the court, but he couldn’t possibly understand the complex thought processes in Shirabu’s mind. Although… Eita can understand wanting to do everything within your power to be apart of something larger than yourself.</p><p>A blush burns high and bright on the copper-haired male’s cheeks at the taller male’s words.</p><p><em>‘Oh god, he’s cute</em>.’</p><p>The thought comes unwarranted and Eita kind of felt embarrassed at such smitten thoughts but he honestly couldn’t deny himself the honest truth that his bratty replacement was indeed cute – with the caveat of when he wasn’t back-talking or dishing out snide remarks.</p><p>“Well that was a private conversation,” Shirabu glares at Eita like he could hear his derailed thoughts. “If you’re going to snoop on other’s conversations, I should warn you that you shouldn’t tell them that you did so.”</p><p>Smiling, Eita huffs an exasperated sigh. “It’s not as if I wanted to hear you give your speech of dedication to a close friend of mine.”</p><p>Scowling, Shirabu stands and gathers his stuff up from his locker, promptly ending that conversation. He probably knew it was going nowhere with Eita’s disgustingly upbeat mood.</p><p>Contemplating how easily the conversation had derailed off topic, which was most likely what the petty dick was planning on, Eita assumed he exposed his soft side for nothing as he watches Shirabu make his way to the exit.</p><p>Disheartened, Eita slowly makes his way towards the exit as well, fishing the keys Reon had chucked at him earlier from his pockets.</p><p>Shirabu pauses in the doorway and looks at Eita over his shoulder, scanning whatever expression Eita must’ve had. “If the offer is still on the table, then yes, I’d like to take you up on it.”</p><p>Flabbergasted, Eita stood there, with his jaw on the floor, thoughts rendered to a screaming halt.</p><p>Shirabu smirked at his response and threw a peace sign over his shoulder. “Good night, Semi-san.”</p><p>Not knowing how long he stood there, stupidly staring at the empty doorway, with his heart and mind in utter disarray, a quick check of his phone tells him it was way longer than he'd ever confess to. Eita rushes to lock up after he realises he probably looked like an idiot in front of his newly discovered crush. <em>Crush?</em> Eita pauses at the unexpected thought. Well, shit.</p><p>Leaning against the balcony outside of the second floor club room, a cool breeze gently combs through his stress-tousled hair. He recalled the blush painted across Shirabu’s face and noted he shouldn’t make a habit of causing the younger male to blush, Eita’s poor heart wouldn’t be able to handle it. Looking up at the waxing moon hanging in the sky, Eita contemplated just how much more difficult he just made his final year by choosing to open his heart to the bratty second year boy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my first fic, so I’m working on moving away from stiff formal academic writing to some creative works I've thought about for a while. The small amount of dialogue present may be a bit stiff, sorry about that!<br/>Critiques, comments and kudos are always appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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